Page 17 of Antiletum (The Nocturne #1)

Slipping out of my hands, she starts another slow trek through the spirlinary , taking in the massive crystal chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings. Moonlight sparkles against them, casting against the walls like a sprinkling of fireflies.

“But were they scared for you? Or only themselves and your sister?”

“It wasn’t like that,” she says quietly. It guts me like a fish, how she would defend them so fiercely when they never did her. I don’t think she even hears her own heartbreak nestled within her weak defense.

“Sounds to me like you’re making excuses for them, Delaney.”

“Sounds to me like you don’t want to see where they were coming from, Valledyn.”

I shake my head, following her dutifully. “No. I don’t, and I never will. From my perspective, the only thing they ever sacrificed was the comfort, happiness, and well being of their daughter. For very shallow reasons.”

She stops abruptly, jaw set. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m only offering you the truth,” I tell her, taking care to put tenderness and affection into my words .

“But it’s not. That’s an opinion.”

“It’s the truth as I see it.”

She huffs. Like an angry little bunny rabbit. So adorable my heart might just explode.

A grin overtakes my face. It’s not patronizing, but genuinely endeared. Taking a chance, I twine my fingers into hers. She glances down at our laced fingers—my large hand curled around her small one protectively—and she doesn’t pull away.

“Let’s call it a grey area then,” I acquiesce.

Delaney doesn’t answer, but that near scowl melts away, just a bit. The silence between us is soothing, comfortable. Accepting and natural and completely wild at the same time. A living thing all its own.

“Tell me something about you,” she breathes, almost as if she doesn’t mean to say it.

I smile, taking a quick inventory of myself and what Delaney might find interesting. Easily, I settle on, “I’m an artist.”

My wife’s whole face lights up, she scans me head to toe. “I was about to say I’m surprised. But I don’t think I am. What kind of art? Are you any good?”

I chuckle. “I’m not terrible. I sketch. And paint. As I told you, I don’t sleep much. I often waste away those late hours with a pencil, brush, or palette knife in hand.”

“That doesn’t sound like a waste at all. Maybe one day you can show me some of your work.”

Hope that came about back at Greystone beats harder behind my ribs. The small, green sprout spreads into a full blown fucking oak tree. Its roots imbed deep into my heart, wrapping around it like a barbed wire cage, never to let me go. If she forces me to rip it out, it will surely eviscerate me .

Delaney studies me. Soft, searching, roaming all over my face boldly in her drunkenness, and I think she might just be letting herself see things that she refused to before.

I’ve been waiting for it. When her gaze meets mine, dissecting my eyes like they’re an experiment she can’t quite find the answer to, I think I see it.

I think it’s there.

Our hands grasp tighter. My heart, heavy oak tree and all, patters faster and faster and I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my entire life as I lean slowly closer to my wife, eyes locked on her mouth with utmost intention.

Her breath hitches. Her pink tongue slides out to lick her lips, as if she can already taste me against her breath. As if she craves it. As if it’s the sustenance she needs to thrive.

But then, something far too close to guilt slides into place, shuttering her ease and thieving from the glorious moment that was beginning to bloom between us—husband and wife.

Whether that remorse is tied to Rainah and how Delaney is clearly beginning to disregard her warning, or something entirely different, I cannot say.

With a hard swallow, I let her pull away, taking yet another piece of myself with her. “Nevermind if your parents were afraid to face Parliament about their lies. I’ll rectify what they never did. I will take care of you.”

She turns to me quickly. A hint of fear tucked within her quiet mask. She’s grown too accustomed to hiding behind her walls. “That’s why you have to leave in the morning.”

“Yes.” A small smile tugs on my lips. “I promised to protect you. And I always will. If you believe nothing else of me, always believe that. ”

Delaney releases a tired sigh. Like those few saturated seconds when we almost kissed pulled every ounce of energy from her being.

She walks away from me. Heels clicking against the stone, black skirts surround her like an eclipsed midnight moon, radiant beneath.

She stops at a row of decorative windows, its images showing the progression of a shift from a man to an owl.

She tries to push one open, find some much needed air, a line of sweat dripping from her temple. It is stiflingly hot in here.

She narrows her gaze. “They don’t open?”

Perfect opportunity eases my aching ruefulness, and I take it, picking back up on our ill executed conversation at our first breakfast.

“They do not. They were sealed shut hundreds of years ago. When shifter gifts were still called upon.”

Delaney pauses. Staring at me. “Why?”

“That was in the beginning days of control. It was discouraged, to be able to shift into our owls and leave The Citadel undocumented when the Nocturne disappeared. The newly formed Parliament wanted to keep tabs on what families held what abilities. Didn’t want them to escape into the wild.

Nobility only left through the front door, and only if permitted. ”

“I’ve never heard any of this before,” Delaney says quietly, facing the windows. Skeptical but not disregarding.

“It’s not only you, ocellus. Most people haven’t at this point.

There’s more to the origins of vinculum as wedding bands.

Beyond the rings being non-removable in death.

” Creeping up silently and without notice, I can nearly rest my chin on her shoulder while I lean down to whisper in her ear.

Delaney can try, but she won’t get away from me so easily.

A brow arches, looking over her shoulder. Clearly interested. Our faces close. “Do tell, my Lord. ”

“Careful. I could get entirely too used to hearing that from your mouth.”

Glorious red spreads across her cheeks further—like spilled red wine staining linen. How lucious. Instinctively, my thumb swipes across it, soaking her heat into my skin. Far too briefly—it nearly hurts.

I think about how my wife is bare under that dress. The matching panties are in my pocket, tucked right up against the tiny golden clasp that I usually keep close, like a trophy. Even though they aren’t used. Now that is a tragedy.

I can just imagine how I could force her against a wall; pin her arms above her head; trap her there while I spout my filth in her ear.

Tell her all the things I’m going to do to her.

Press my hard cock into her ass. Maybe wrap my hand around her tiny throat and squeeze.

Tell her how she’s going to beg for it. How she’s going to be my dirty girl and like it.

She would be so soaked it would run down her thighs, ready for me to clean up with my tongue.

Or maybe I’d ignore it. Leave her aching. Wanting so badly maybe she’d cry.

Yes. Instead, I’d lick her tears off her face and leave her desire dripping down her legs until she’s desperate. Hysterical. Mad.

Focus.

Clearing my throat and trying to ignore the thickening of my cock, I say, “ Vinculum was used because even during a shift, one would not lose their marriage tokens in their animal form. Their vinculum would simply be tucked away under skin and feathers, ready to resume its rightful place on human-form fingers.”

“Before shifter gifts phased out of existence,” Delaney replies innocently.

My left eye twitches. Just barely. “Something like that. ”

Don’t come on too strong, Mallin’s wisdom rings through my mind. Talk to her civilly, in a setting that’s comfortable to her. With a gentle tone.

Hence the spirlinary . Surrounded by the topic we need to discuss. In a place where Delaney is comfortable.

Despite her magic being out, she still sought the sanctuary at the manor. Often alone. A choice all her own, the poison of her parents deeply ingrained.

“It all sounds very romantic, if what you say is true.”

“Yes, it is,” I say. “And of course it’s true. As we already discussed, owls choose their partner, and then are pair-bonded for life. Our owl shifter ancestors were no different. The sanctity of our marriages is the epitome of romance and devotion.”

She smiles at me fondly, pleased, and I melt in my boots. “ You sound like a romantic.”

“And you sound surprised.”

“Watching people while they sleep and choosing their underwear isn’t exactly romantic.”

“Grand gestures are subjective.”

She laughs loud, the sound echoing around me. “Are they?” she challenges with a broad grin.

“Absolutely. What would you consider romantic?”

Give me something. Tell me what to do. My desperate thoughts are so loud in my head, I’m certain she hears them. But instead of answering, she just narrows her gaze, silently challenging me to find out on my own.

And deos , do I plan to.

Confide in her , Mallin’s voice echoes. I know you love your dark, mysterious facade like it’s your first born. But why would your wife open up to you if you don’t do the same for her?

Delaney did react well to me sharing a piece of my personality with her, one of my interests.

Inspiration strikes, an idea coming on how I can both confide in Delaney and prove myself as a romantic. “Would you like to hear a piece of confidential information?”

She grins wide, not at all stifling her eagerness in our conversation, excitement to hear more glowing across her skin. “Always.”

“Mallin and Selise were nearly paired to others.”

Delaney’s face falls. “What? But they’re so…”

“Perfect together? In love?” I supply.

“Yes.”

“Parliament briefly had in mind to pair Selise with Alaric, who you met earlier.”

Her eyes widen. “The cancer man?”